Like Father, Like Son
by Cynlee
Summary: The beginnings of Ninja training. Really.
1. Chapter 1

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Okay-- I posted this at Stealthy hoping for some constructive feed-back, but mainly people just said how nice it was-- which is GREATLY APPRECIATED. I am posting it here as well, and if you think it still needs work, please feel free to tell me. I am not going to make it a long story, and this "chapter" is very short, but it's the first. EDIT: Thanks for the input-- I have edited this chapter just a bit, and I wanted the people who have reviewed so far (and who have pointed stuff out to me, both good and bad) to know I appreciate their words.

TMNT are Mirage's property, not mine. Sadly. No, really, SADLY!

**One**

I had tried to remember the routines of my beloved Master Yoshi.

As a rat in a cage, I had learned to mimic his movements-- I often wondered why his friends were so amused; surely other rats did these things?

It was not until much later that I had discovered that I was considered "special" for a pet rat.

My new body needed exercise. I found it increasingly hard to go about as I had used to, and so had adopted the "human" way of walking and such. My sons, still on their four legs (which daily were slowly turning into what would become their hands and feet), followed me everywhere, and it was no surprise that soon they began to mimic my movements as their mutations took hold.

I had started practicing the moves I remembered my master doing, finding them easier to do in my new form. Indeed, the action of these moves helped to not only strengthen my body, but to improve my abilities to gather food safely for my little ones! Soon, heavily disguised, I could "pass" for a human-- dangerous, and rarely done except for important things like milk and certain foods that I could not get by scavenging.

One of my trips led me to an out of business sporting good store, where the owners were waiting to "liquidate their inventory"-- I have no idea what that means, but that was what the sign said on the window. I found a few items in the dumpster in back that the owners apparently thought were not worth selling, though they appeared to me to be in fine condition; getting them from that location down into the sewers and then home, however, was quite a feat in itself, but I managed. I am ashamed to say that I also found a convenient way into this apparently "deserted" establishment, where a few more items that were easier to carry became my unpaid for property; but after a time, my "dojo" was ready, and I began to train in earnest. I must be able to protect my sons.

By now we were living in our new home, and the children had so forgotten the old place that once, when Raphael managed to get out of the door, he immediately became lost-- it was as if he had forgotten the sewers that as mere infants they had been used to traveling through.

At any rate, I had now equipment to train upon. Beginning once a day for an hour, and then increasing my time (between scavenging for food and supplies as well as caring for four active toddlers) I gradually began to see progress in my self-set lessons.

And the more I improved, the more I wished to learn.

Drawing on everything I remembered was enough to start with; I soon realized that I would need help.

Books became my "sensei", along with my memories of Yoshi. The books that I was able to "find" (I trust that no one really missed them from the libraries, book stores, and martial arts schools I soon learned to visit) helped to clarify to me what I was remembering, and to improve upon my techniques, which served me well!

One fateful night, when a large, evil fellow "scavenger" decided that I looked small enough for him to easily liberate my large bag of food from, I was able to "defeat" him quickly with a few punches, kicks, and a really good throw-- and then, before he could recover, before his friends could come to his aid, I had vanished (into the manhole, naturally, but he never thought to look there)!

As I lingered at the bottom, waiting to see if I would be followed, one of the friends of this would-be stealer of my children's nourishment whistled in awe.

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"Jeeze, Jim-- why didja try ta go up against a NINJA?"

"Ninja? What the hell are ya talkin' 'bout?" the one called "Jim" mumbled between his split lips.

"That fella! He was a NINJA! I seen them movies! Ninjas are small and stealthy and can beat the crap outta ya and vanish like nothin'! What was that sayin'? Oh, yeah, they strike hard and fade away..."

"Jim" told this person exactly what he thought of this theory-- I will not use such language here-- but his friend's words rang in my ears as I made my way home.

Ninja-- I remembered this word-- I remembered that Yoshi and his friends used this word-- he was Ninja-- but also a Guardian--

Ninja! Yes, more of it was coming back to me. They were warriors of old, trained in the art of "ninjitsu"-- trained assassins or trained spies, depending upon whom one believed. I remember Master Yoshi and his friends having a friendly argument over the true history of Ninja. They were skilled in the art of being undetected, of surprising their enemies, of gathering information, always one with the shadows...

That was it! I would become Kage! I would become Ninja! I would train my sons up in the art of ninjitsu, so that they would be able to protect themselves.

And if I ever came across the evil person who took my master from me, then I would avenge him-- and perhaps my sons would play a part as well!

I began to train more; I learned weapons katas and studied far into the night when my boys were asleep. I scavenged, I raised them, and I trained myself as well as I could. Weeks like this passed the same. It became a regular routine, one that I grew to love.

My sons were bright, inquisitive, and full of mischief. They would see me training, but usually they played amongst themselves, ignoring what "father" was doing. They had more important things to do than busy themselves with my activities.

I brought my first bokken into the dojo and began to train myself in the use of the "sword". I recalled that Yoshi had used a sword-- if only he had access to it that night! Alas, the past cannot change with a wish... At any rate, when I started to learn how to use it, Leonardo began to sit and watch, facinated by it all. But once I would put the bokken away, he would return to whatever game his brothers were playing.

But it was Michelangelo of all of them who first began to try to do what I was doing!

I was so wrapped up in mastering this one particular lesson that it was some minutes before I realized that I had a "shadow"-- turning, I found my "youngest" standing behind me, mimicking me move for clumsy move!

"KYA!" he shouted at me when he noticed my watching him, and he performed a three-year-old version of a double punch, followed by a kick!

"What are you doing, my son?" I could not help but smile. His little face grinned up at me, as proud as anything.

"I's a Ninja, like you! I's trainin'!"

"Child, what do you know of ninja?" I asked, wondering how he had learned the word. I was sure I had not used it around them.

"You's a ninja, like inna book!" he asserted, and before I could question him further, his chubby little legs carried him out of the dojo, into his room, and back again, carrying one of the many comic books I had brought back for their amusement.

Sure enough, there was a martial arts theme to the story-- and several black-clad warriors, attacking the hero (who evidently was the greatest warrior in all the land, as he could beat them all with just his bare fists).

Still, that did NOT explain the use of the word.

"See? You's a ninja like him!" he insisted, pointing to the "hero".

"But Michelangelo, where did you hear that word?"

"Dontello telled me! He's reads the word to me."

That Donatello was learning to recognize words before the others did not surprise me. That he had managed to decode "ninja" however...

I looked again with awe at this other son-- he was constantly demonstrating his intelligence to me, but this!

Michelangelo, however, did not give me a chance to question his brother.

"I's wanna learn! I's wanna learn! Will you teach me?"

He was so in earnest; true, I had planned on training them, but I had thought to wait a few more years, when they were older and would appreciate it more-- but he seemed so eager, and so in earnest, that I picked him up and looked him in the eyes, just as seriously as he was gazing at me.

"All right, my son. I will start training you tomorrow. But it is hard work. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"YES!" he insisted, nodding his head vigorously for emphasis. I smiled. Tomorrow he would forget, and be playing with his brothers or himself. But for now I would humor him.

"Very well. You and I will train to be Ninja."

He cheered and clapped his hands, and when I put him down, he bragged to his brothers about the special thing that was going to happen to him tomorrow.

I thought no more of it that night. I went about fixing our supper, and checking our supplies. We were well-off for food for the next few days, so I could afford to stay home tomorrow. Usually I would try to teach them a few things like their alphabet, and some basic reading and math, but I felt that perhaps a play day was in order. We would just take the day easy-- and I would "train" Michelangelo.

I chuckled to myself again later, just before they went to bed, as this eager little turtle kept asserting to his skeptical brothers that "tomorrow I's gonna be a NINJA! Just like inna book!" and he would insistently point to the tattered comic as if it were the gospel truth. "Father 'n me is gonna fight and be Ninja an' safe the day! We's gonna be a team!"

"Now, Michelangelo," I interrupted him. "We are going to start training. You will not be a true ninja for some time."

But he would not be put off. As far as he was concerned, it was set in stone and not to be gainsaid.

I spoke no more of it. Besides, I thought, as I read them all a bedtime story and then prepared for our nightly ritual of trips to the bathroom, drinks of water, and much tucking in of sleepy turtles, he would forget it as soon as his head hit the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

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Thanks to Splinter for a few "training" suggestions! She, btw, teaches martial arts to little kiddies, if you didn't know!

TMNT are the property of Mirage. Perhaps if I threw a pillow at them...

**Two**

Now, the next morning I was up early as usual. I meditated, then began the mornings ritual of going into the dojo to get in some practice before it was time to prepare breakfast and get my sons ready for the day.

After showing respect to the dojo (to this day, I recall with such clarity that last time Yoshi entered the dojo, with me in my cage. That was the last time he ever...), I did some warm-ups, and then began my basic katas. I had learned to improvise with some of them due to my tail. I still had to work on integrating this body part into the routines. I did not want it to become a liability in a fight.

"Mornin'!" Michelangelo's cheerful voice greeted me loudly, almost startling me. Usually I know when they are there, but he had managed to take me by surprise!

Imagine! The noisiest of the four, catching **me** unawares!

I turned to address him when I caught sight of him. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud. He had raided the drawers where I keep clothing for them to protect them from the cold, and had managed to dress himself in some large black pants that were too big for him. They trailed the floor and were being held up by both his little hands. As he moved, his little feet peeked out from under the mass of material, and I could see that he had put on some black socks-- also too large, but very warm for cold turtle toes.

He was also wearing a dark blue sweater (again, too large-- but I had been glad to find it, and they would eventually grow into it) backwards and inside out, with the sleeves bunched up over his little wrists. But the crowning achievement had to be the flowery scarf on his head, which he had put there for his "bananda" as he called it.

It took me a full minute before I could trust myself to speak normally to him. I did not want to laugh and hurt his feelings.

"Why are you dressed so, my son?"

"I's gonna be a ninja! Ninjas wears clothes!"

Another minute went by, as I struggle to make sure that I did not laugh. It was hard, however. I wanted to get the camera and take his picture, he was so cute-- but I refrained.

"Yes, they do," I agreed solemnly. "But for training I think you should not wear the-- the outfit just yet. We must save it for later."

He looked a bit crestfallen, then smiled anyway.

" 'kay!" he agreed, immediately shedding his finery-- except, of course, his "bananda-- Ninjas gots to wear their banandas!"

"Yes, the bandana may stay," I replied, resigned to the fact that I would be "training" him this morning.

Fortunately, I had found some advice for training the very young in one of the books I had "borrowed". Making it a game seemed to be the general theme. Some of the suggestions I would not be able to use due to lack of available items, but I believed that I had enough things that would entertain him for today.

I was still convinced that he would soon forget about doing this. After all, I had noticed that they all seemed to have short attention spans, which (according to what I had read as well as observed daily) was natural for their "ages".

But I had prepared. So after gathering his ninja outfit from the floor, I took his hand and began our training.

"First, my son, you must show respect to the dojo when entering," I said, but before I could go further, he nodded vigorously.

"Yeah, we bow! I knowed! I seen you bowed!" And he, still holding my hand, bowed. Still in that position, he looked up at me sideways. "You's supposed to bow, father!"

What could I do? Once again I showed respect, and bowed with my son. Then the "training" began.

I decided to do the basic moves after I showed him how to stretch. Once again, he already seemed to know the routine! I wondered just how long he had been observing me! As I watched him immediately launch into the most basic of katas, involving mainly the movement of his feet, I marveled at his powers of observation.

All this time, I knew that he was NOT watching-- none of them were. Every time I was in the dojo, they played right near the door, engrossed with their cars and blocks and, in Michelangelo's case, Mr. Growly the stuffed bear.

And yet, he had observed enough to be able to follow me through every one of the basic exercises, and could show me a bit of some of the ones I had been trying to adapt the use of my tail to.

That was the cutest! His tail, so very short, could not move the same way, and the look of concentration on his face was as comical as it was determined. His little tongue peeking from between his lips, eyes narrowed in persistence, he mimicked my one move, swinging his own hips in an exaggerated way, as if lashing his tail against the heavy bag that I had hung from the ceiling.

"I's needs a longer tail," he finally panted, coming to the conclusion that this was one thing he could not do. "OH! I know!" And he ran from the room, returning momentarily with a long orange sash that had come attached to a rather gaudy silk robe I had found in a bag of "donated" clothing. He held it up to me expectantly.

"What do you wish me to do, my son?"

"Tie it on my tail! Then I's have a longer tail!"

I managed to convince him that this would not be a good idea.

"Now, my son, you must practice some punches," I said, and the tail was forgotten as he watched me gather up some pillows, a few socks bundled up into ball-shapes, and a long cylinder that I had found in the dumpster at the sporting goods store. It had been roughly broken in two, and the texture was odd to me-- a type of hard "foam", solid mostly but a small hollow space down the middle. Part of the packaging that had remained informed me that this was a "Pool Noodle", evidently some sort of floatation device. I had taken it because one never knew what might come in handy, and I had thought that, once summer was in full swing, I might try taking the children to the turtle pond in the park some moonlit night, when being seen was not a problem, so they could learn to swim.

"Now, first, let us practice some punches--" I was not allowed to finish. He immediately took up a stance at the heavy bag and began to land some blows, that look of determination on his face again as he accurately mimicked what he had evidently seen me do.

I could see that this was going to be harder than I thought.

"Michelangelo," I said, taking him by one hand and stopping his movements. "If I am to train you, you must wait for me to do so. After all, I am the Sensei."

"Oh. Sorry, Sensei," he said, bowing. "What do I do?"

I think my mouth hung open a few seconds; HOW did he know to do that? Then I shook my head.

"Let us stand side by side, and I will teach you a few of the things I want you to learn," I said, positioning him. "Then we will practice them together."

He was a quick learner! I knew more than ever that he was amazingly observant-- what he had not already learned by watching me do them on my own, he picked up quickly after my only showing him a few times.

He was very good! Small, still a toddler, sometimes not quite coordinated, he was able to do most of what I showed him with little trouble!

Right foot forward, straight right punch--**seiken oitsuki**.

Right foot forward, right uppercut--**jodan oitsuki**.

Left foot forward, straight right punch--**seiken giyakutsuki**.

Left foot forward, right uppercut--**jodan giyakutsuki**.

Right foot back, left hand leg block, straight right punch

--**gedanbarai seiken tsuki**.

We went on like this for some time. I was amazed that he did not tire or become bored! He even started using some of the Japanese names, repeating them after me (I had a habit of speaking out the moves as well as their names when first training-- it helped me to concentrate).

We did a few more, and then I judged it was time to move on.

"Now, my son, let us put to use what you have learned," I said, as he stood there, sort of panting and grinning at his success. I picked up a pillow and moved away from him. "I am going to throw this pillow at you, my son. You must hit it and not let it hit you. Do you understand?"

He thought about this new turn of events, even frowning.

"Yes. I unnerstand. But," he asked, face all twisted in thought, "**are** Ninjas ever attacked by pillows?"

"No, my son. This is just a practice. The pillows are pretend ninja. They are going to jump out at you to attack you! You must block them and punch them!"

He thought about this some more. Then he grinned.

" 'kay, Sensei! I's ready!" And he got into his "fighting stance".

Again I wished I could run for the camera!

I threw the pillow, and he was knocked on his tail.

"Oh, my son!" I could not help saying-- I had not meant to hurt him. But before I could get to him, he was back on his feet, in his "fighting stance" once again.

"I's okay! That Ninja was lucky! I's ready!" he insisted, watching me.

What could I do? I picked up another pillow and threw it.

This time he launched out with a block and a punch, knocking the pillow away.

"Well done," I praised him, and he briefly smiled, still in his "fighting stance".

I threw another pillow, and he successfully hit it away as well. This went on for several minutes, and I had to admit, he was becoming quite good at blocking and punching-- he even kicked one once, though it unbalanced him and he landed on his shell. But he rebounded again, and was ready for more!

And I think the thing that surprised me the most was that he treated it all so seriously. Not once did he laugh or squeal or ask if he could throw the pillows at me. I could not figure out this development. I was sure that he would soon tire of this "game" as it were, but he seemed determined to keep going.

I looked at the "pool noodle", a thought forming in my head.

"Now, my son, I will be the Ninja," I said, picking up one and kneeling before him, well within striking distance. "I am going to try to hit you with this 'sword'." I lightly hit him on the head with it, and he giggled for the first time since our "training" had begun. I let him feel it as I continued. "I will try to hit you, and you must block the attacks."

" 'kay, Sensei," he giggled, then his face became serious, and he got into his stance.

I swung the 'sword' downwards, and his right arm came up and out, blocking and knocking the blow to the side.

"Well done!" I said, and I truly meant it. "Again!"

I tried several times to hit him with the foam tube. Once in a while I got through and hit him, but many times he blocked the attack.

Indeed, this portion of our lesson became rather heated. He was getting so good, that he got daring. I tried several rapid strikes with the "noodle", but evidently I left myself wide open at one point. He blocked the blows, then suddenly leaped forward and aimed a kick right at me! Fortunately, his aim was off and I was spared his foot in my stomach.

Unfortunately, his aim was off-- very off-- and very low-- and very painful--

I crouched there, doubled over at the unexpected attack upon a rather sensitive area, squeezing my eyes shut to keep tears from falling.

"Is you okay, Sensei?" he asked. It took me a minute before I could reply in a relatively normal voice.

"Yes, my son. I am. And I believe that it is time to put the equipment away and prepare breakfast."

" 'kay!" he cheerfully replied, and I watched as he gathered up the pillows and carried them to the side where I had first kept them. Then he returned and stood before me, expectantly.

I stood up, and took his hand. Then we bowed to the dojo and turned to leave-- and I saw three turtles seated in the opening, eyes wide.

"How long have you three been sitting there?" I asked, as Michelangelo removed his "bananda, cause training is over."

"Alla time," Raphael grinned, and Donatello nodded in agreement. "Alla time since you throwed the pillows. Will you throw the pillows at me? Please? I wanna fight the pillows too!"

"Me, too!" Donatello echoed, bouncing in his sitting position. "I wanna fight the pillows and that sword. What is that sword made of? Can I touch it? Does it hurt? Can I hit Mikey wif the sword?"

"I wanna be a ninja too, father!" Raphael said, getting up and pulling on my free hand. "Can I be a ninja too like Mikey? Can I pretty please? Can I can I can I?"

"Me, too! Me, too!" Donatello was now on his feet, trying to pull the same hand.

Only Leonardo remained quiet. He stood with the others and followed us into the kitchen. He did not seem to share the enthusiasm of the others-- Michelangelo was busy explaining to the other two how hard he had trained today and how soon he could fight the ninja and "safe the day", and they were peppering him with questions and trying to hit him to see if he could block them-- which he could!

"No training outside of the dojo!" I said sharply, and the three immediately stopped. "You know that I do not like you to hit each other. You may only do that in the dojo."

I fixed breakfast, listening as the three continued to chatter-- and noticing that Leonardo did not join in.

As I set the food before them I felt his forehead.

"Are you feeling all right, my son?"

"Yes, Father," he nodded. "Can I train with you too?"

I smiled.

"Yes. All four of you may train with me this afternoon. How is that?"

Three Turtles cheered. But Leonardo merely nodded, and ate his breakfast.

I wondered what the problem was, but then I became distracted by the usual breakfast emergencies of spilled milk or dropped forks, and I thought no more of it at the moment.

My thoughts turned to the afternoon. I wondered how long it would be before they all became bored and wanted to quit. After all, they were only three. Despite the determination Michelangelo had shown this morning, I was confident that soon it would wear off, and that they would eventually want to do something else. I would not force them into it at this early age.

Potty training had been one thing; learning self-defense was something that could wait until they were a bit older.


	3. Chapter 3

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Hi-- more fluff-- and I'm in need of fluff at the moment.

TMNT are not mine. They are NOT mine! They are NOT MINE!

**Three**

The morning passed, and we played a few games (educational, by the way). Raphael, Michelangelo, and Donatello were very chatty and active, but I noticed that for once Leonardo was not joining in. He would play or respond when invited or addressed, but other than that, he sat on the floor by the couch, staring every now and then in the direction of the dojo, seemingly lost in thought.

Considering that he, like his brothers, was approximately three years old, I was certain that the "lost in thought" explanation could NOT be the case. He must not be feeling well.

Before lunch time, I deemed it the time to begin the next "training session. Summoning the four from their various activities, I led them into the dojo-- Michelangelo immediately at the front, holding onto my hand, his "bananda" back in place.

"Does we need banandas, too?" Donatello asked, puzzled (and just a little bit envious, I believe, judging from the way he stared at Michelangelo).

"Well," I said, thinking. "I suppose that if Michelangelo is wearing a **bandana**, then you three might wish to wear them as well."

Before I could make a move to go in search of something, the three of them had vanished into their room. I could hear a bit of scuffling, one or two protests of "I wanna wear that one!" and then they reappeared.

Once again I was forced to bite my tongue-- hard-- to keep from laughing at the sight.

Leonardo had tied what appeared to be a long stocking around his head (again, something found in the bag of "donated" clothing-- I take what I can get, and worry about what we can use later). Donatello had found a man's tie, a bright green one that had what appeared to be some cartoon character on the wide part.

But Raphael topped them all. Not merely content with wearing something around his head, he had found a pink ski mask with tassels hanging off the top. It was a cap obviously designed for a small girl, but at this time my sons were blissfully unaware of such differences. All Raphael knew was it covered his face "like inna pichure," he informed me proudly, pointing to Michelangelo's favorite comic, and it had flowing stuff hanging off of it-- again just like in the picture.

"Well, now that you are all ready, let us begin," I said, and we bowed to the dojo to show respect.

I showed the other three how to do warm up stretches, and then stood them in a line.

"When we are in the dojo, you must address me as 'Sensei'," I instructed them.

"Yes, Sensei!" Michelangelo immediately piped up, and the other three echoed him quickly.

"Now, we will begin with a few of the things that Michelangelo learned this morning," and the lesson-- the first real lesson with all four-- began.

I was once again impressed with Michelangelo's ability to quickly pick up the basic moves. The other three were also quick to learn-- it was not very many minutes before they were all doing a few of the things that I had shown Michelangelo this morning.

Indeed, Michelangelo started correcting Leonardo's stance and moves.

"Like this, Le'nardo," he said, putting his hands on his brother and posing him, putting his arms in the correct position. "And go slow like this," and he demonstrated a very basic kata, all the time encouraging his older brother to do it "just like this!"

Then it was time to learn some punches and blocks. Again, the other three learned quickly, while Michelangelo did the moves very smoothly for a small child who was only doing it for his second lesson of the day. Once again, he took it upon himself to be the assistant Sensei as it were-- and I do not think that Leonardo was quite pleased at all with his brother's attentions and instructions.

The pillow-ninja was the highlight of the lesson. There was much giggling this time, and much cheering of each other as one by one they fought off the "attacks". Raphael was the only one I did not knock down in the beginning. I suspect that, being the last one to go, he had observed the sudden upset of all three brothers and had prepared himself to not end up on his tail as they had.

I think that Michelangelo let himself be knocked down. He had followed Leonardo, and he had immediately helped his brother up off of the mat with the comforting words of "yeah, them ninjas get lucky at first! They knocked me down the first time, too!"

Finally, the "sword" came out. I was prepared.

"No **kicking**," I said to all four. "Punches and blocks only."

Donatello was highly fascinated with the "sword", wanting to know what it was made of, and how it was made, and what was a pool noodle for, and could he put it in the bathtub to see it work, and so on and so on.

Inspiration came to me. The thing was in two pieces-- about the same size, though a bit ragged at the ends.

"Michelangelo, here is the 'sword'," I said, and I took the other one, getting back to my knees again. "Let us see if you can hit father with your weapon!"

The grin on that face was mirrored by two of the other three-- only Leonardo seemed to not like this.

It was not real sword play, but it was fun-- and Michelangelo actually managed to score a few hits against me! Then it was Raphael's turn. He spent most of his time trying to "chop your head off" but failing to do so, yet his determination was soon swallowed up in his joyous laughter as I repeatedly blocked his attempts and hit him with the foam device.

Donatello showed some promise; perhaps he would not be a swordsman-- or swordsturtle-- but he seemed to be thinking the entire time, and he used the noodle in ways that alerted me to the fact that perhaps some sort of striking weapon would be his best choice. He managed to hit me a few times, but once again, skill gave way to laughter, and soon it was just another fun game!

Now came Leonardo-- such a look on his face! Such a look of determination, of seriousness! He looked even more set to do this than Michelangelo had that morning, when he had first took his "fighting stance" with the ninja pillows.

"Begin," I said, and he knocked the "sword" from my hands before I could blink!

"Well done!" I said, as Michelangelo so helpfully retrieved my weapon for me. Still he did not smile. "Let us try again!"

This time I was better prepared, and we "battled". He was doing fairly well-- again, this was not true swords play, but he was very serious about his efforts, to the point that not once did he so much as smile during the bout. The others had eventually fallen to the floor in helpless laughter, but Leonardo behaved as if this were-- well, the most important thing in his young life!

Finally I called a halt to the lessons.

"You have all done well," I commended them, and we bowed and left the dojo (after cleaning up-- they were so eager back then to help put away the equipment; **now**, however...).

I paid little heed to the chattering as they skipped out of the room, removing their "ban-DAN-as, Mikey, NOT 'ban-nan-das! Say it right!" as they went. It was time to start preparing lunch, and I went about my job, listening while not really paying attention.

Michelangelo was telling them how he had done two lessons today, and was ahead of them.

"You was good," he told them in a tone that was both flattering and yet just a touch smug. "Soon you will be as good as me, an' then maybe you can join me and Father's team!"

"What team, Mikey?" Donatello asked.

"You know-- me and father is gonna--"

"ARE gonna," Leonardo corrected his brother.

"Yeah, ARE gonna be a team of Ninja and fight the bad guys and safe the day! Just me and him! Like Batman and Robin!"

"Batman and Robin ain't Ninja," Raphael pointed out.

"But they's a team! An' me and father is gonna--"

"**ARE** GONNA, dummy!"

Silence for a minute.

"Why'd you yell at me, Le'nardo?" I could recognize the weepy tone of voice. Michelangelo was sensitive to his brothers yelling at him at this age (funny how he outgrew that as he got older; or perhaps he just grew immune to it). Before I could go into the living room a teary-eyed Michelangelo was clinging to my robe.

"Leonardo," I said, placing a comforting hand on Michelangelo's head. It took him a few minutes, but my eldest dragged his feet into the kitchen, face looking like he, too, was about to cry. "Leonardo, you know that I do not like you to yell at your brothers, and I do NOT like you to call names."

(To this day I could not discover where they had learned that word-- and "stupid" afterwards, unless it was something in one of the many comic books or story books I had brought home. I had never read all of them, and I suspect that Donatello, sharp and intelligent little Donatello, had managed to decode these words, and the others had figured out the context and the usage based on the pictures).

(You may wonder why I did not quit bringing such things into the house; well, the damage had been done, and I was careful to screen all future offerings, but there was no going back. I just tried my best to teach them to not hurt each other.)

"Yes, father," he said sadly, head hanging. "I'm sorry, Michelangelo," he added carefully, correctly using his brother's name-- I felt a small pang at this, as it indicated that they were leaving babyhood behind.

"Now, I want you to go back into the living room and sit down until lunch is ready," I said, and Leonardo, trying not to sniffle, nodded his head, and with a woeful " 'kay" he dragged his feet back to his previous location.

I finished preparing lunch (Michelangelo still clinging to my robe with one hand, a thumb in his mouth), and after a time was able to call the other three in so we could eat.

Michelangelo did not wish to sit alone; apparently what his brother had said had hurt him deeply, but he needed to learn how to accept an apology. I therefore refused to hold him on my lap and feed him. This resulted in a few more sniffles and an attempt to use what later became known as his "puppy dog eyes", but after a few minutes of my ignoring him, he settled into eating, finishing first (as usual).

Cookies and milk for dessert. I had gotten lucky and had found enough money to spare for this unlooked for treat. As the last tiny crumb was gobbled up, Michelangelo was back to his chatty self, once again making plans on him and "father being Ninjas and safing the world".

In the living room, the other three began a game that involved making a lot of noise and knocking down things. Leonardo sat apart, next to the couch. Occasionally he would stare in the direction of the dojo, then back at the others, but he made no sound and did not seem interested in what they were doing.

I sat on the couch, picking him up from the floor and seating him on my lap, feeling his forehead again and looking into his eyes.

"My son, tell me where it hurts," I said, suspecting that he was ill.

"I'm not sick," he said, though he did lean into me for a cuddle. When I had sat down, he had acted as if nothing were wrong, but I could tell from the moment I picked him up that there was something going on. He had naturally curled up for comfort as soon as I had placed my hands on him; indeed, he seemed to restrain himself from latching onto me in a hug-- something he usually did when he was not well or happy.

But this time?

I cradled him and watched the other three who were actively building towers and playing "Godzilla"-- it was Donatello's turn to be the monster-- (no, we did not have a television at the time. One of the comic books I had brought home to them was the source of their knowledge. I can not begin to tell you how many times I was forced to read that story...) and he was doing a good job of destroying "Toe-key-yo" or "Toek-yo", depending upon who was talking at the moment.

"What is the matter, Leonardo?" I asked again.

He leaned into me further, curling up tighter. His cheek pushed up against my chest, and one little hand buried itself in the folds of my robe, as if holding on for dear life.

"Nothin'."

"Leonardo, I do not like when you do not tell me the truth," I said carefully, as I held him a bit tighter. "Tell Father what is wrong."

For an answer he drew his legs up further, as if he wanted to withdraw into his shell, and a small sniffle escaped him.

"I wanna be a Ninja," he barely whispered. I frowned in puzzlement.

"My son, you will be. I am going to train you all."

Another sniffle.

"But **I **wanna be your team," he said a bit louder. "**I **wanna be your team and fight the bad guys and safe the day-- you and **me**, a team."

I did not understand for a few seconds what he was referring to-- and then I recalled Michelangelo's early assertions that "Father 'n me is gonna fight and be Ninja an' safe the day! We's gonna be a team!"

Ah. Jealousy. They were not strangers to it, but this was certainly something I had not expected.

"You do not want your brothers on our team?" I asked, watching as now Michelangelo took his turn as Godzilla and the other two moved the little figures that I had recently brought them (some toy soldiers, a bit battered and worn, but useful to them none the less) around the floor, screaming to each other to "RUN! Godzilla is coming!", while Michelangelo roared and kicked blocks and announced in a deep, growly voice "I's gonna eat you all up!"

Leonardo looked at his brothers-- specifically, he looked at Michelangelo. Then he shook his head just a little.

"My son," I said carefully. "We are a family."

"I know."

"A family is like a team. A team is a group that works together. They help each other, and support each other, and they protect each other. There are very few teams with just two people."

"Batman and Robin are a team."

"Yes, but they are only a team in a book. In the real world, we are a team."

I hugged him to me, resting my chin on the top of his head, while watching Raphael take his turn as the terror of Tokyo.

"We are all we have, my son. I know you are probably too young to understand this, but we are all we have. We are a team, and we must always work together.

"Whether I fight alone or someday with all four of you at my side, we are a team. When father goes out to find food, he depends on all of you to keep each other safe, does he not?"

I could feel his head nod. I wondered how much he really understood? I was probably just talking to hear myself talk, but I felt that I needed to talk to this one in this manner. He had taken this entire thing so seriously, I felt some need to be just as serious back. Hopefully, young as he was, he could understand some of it.

"And you four depend upon father to go out and get the food. That is teamwork. And someday, when you are older, you will help me with that job, and we will be even stronger."

I pulled away and lifted his face up so I could look him in the eyes.

"We are more than a team; we are a family. And nothing will change that."

Silence for a few minutes, as I watched the other three play.

"But-- can you and me be a team and fight the Ninjas and safe the day?"

I smiled. Well, it was worth trying. They were more advanced than many human three-year-olds. But they were still babies; my babies.

"Yes, you and I will be a team on Mondays. Michelangelo and I will be a team on Tuesdays, and Raphael will be with me on Wednesdays. Then Donatello and I will have Thursdays. That leaves three days when all five of us will be a team."

He smiled up at me; his world was back in order.

" 'Kay!" And he got down, demanding his turn to be Godzilla.

Little did I know that we would be a team very soon-- that what little I had been teaching them would be needed, and needed so soon-- and the thought of it still makes me shudder at what might have been...


	4. Chapter 4

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Hi, very short chapter because it was becoming so long and I did not wish to bore you in long stretches.

TMNT are the property of Mirage. OH, and hi to Buslady and Reinbeauchaser! I hope we can do that again sometime soon!

**Four**

I thought that the Turtles would soon grow tired of "training." After all, they were young, and I knew how they did not stay focused on many things for long.

Well, apart from Donatello's fascination with the workings of the toilet. I thought I would be mopping the bathroom floor and unclogging that thing of toys and other items for the rest of my life. I simply could not break him of...

Anyway, the next morning I was up early because it was going to be a scavenging day, and I needed to get in as much training of myself as possible. I barely had bowed to honor the dojo when "Morning, Sensei!" sounded cheerfully behind me. Turning, I saw all four of my sons, "bandanas" in place, bowing and ready for their "training."

Amused, I smiled and nodded my head to them as they "bowed" to me.

"Good morning my sons."

Then they began their "stretching" routines, which I cannot adequately describe. I began my own, noticing out of the corner of my eye that when I did a certain movement, Leonardo and Michelangelo immediately began to copy it.

Raphael and Donatello seemed content to simply do what they had been shown, but I began to detect a certain competition between the youngest and the oldest. What one decided to do, the other was quick to follow. This, I gathered from some overheard whispered conversation between the two, was going to be ongoing.

"I's gonna be father's team!" Michelangelo, in the middle of a stretch, whispered fiercely to Leonardo. "I's thought of it first! Is MY idea!"

"I'm going to team with father," Leonardo whispered back, speaking carefully, as if practicing his pronunciation. "I am older than you, and I talk better than you, so I will be the team!"

"My sons," I spoke, interrupting any further chance of this turning into a typical shouting match of "NO! YES! NO! YES!"-- generally how all such "conversations" tended to end up lately-- "Let us begin."

We started with the first five punches that I showed Michelangelo the day before, and it was not long before I felt confident that we could move on to the next five.

Right foot back, left hand side block, straight right punch

--chudan uke seiken seiken tsuki!

Right foot back, left side open hand block, straight right spear hand

--tegata barai tegata nuki!

Right foot back, left open hand head block, right uppercut

--jodan tegata barai jodan tsuki!

Right foot back, left hand head block (closed), straight right punch

--jodan uke seiken tsuki!

Right foot back, left hand head block, bridge of nose punch, straight right punch--urauken seiken tsuki!

Each time, all four managed to learn the punch and the Japanese (after a fashion-- I still to this day can hear Raphael saying "**Chewda ucky say 'KEN' say 'KEN' Tishukey**-- how come we gotta say KEN? Who is Ken?"), but as I suspected, it became a case of sibling rivalry between Leonardo and Michelangelo.

"Mikey, do it this way," Leonardo, stopping his own attempt, made to correct Michelangelo's stance on the last one. "And make your arm straighter when you punch."

Michelangelo's face was a study in indignant shock and insulted pride.

"I knows how to do it, LE'NARDO!" he said with as much haughty ice in his voice as he could manage (in a three-year old sort of way). "I's had more lessons 'n YOU, anyways!"

"Well, you're doin' it wrong, dummy," Leonardo smugly told him, once again demonstrating his own ability to do the block and the punches, with the air of someone who had been doing them for his entire life.

"Leonardo!" I snapped at the offending word, but quick as I was, Michelangelo was quicker.

Michelangelo did not take this affront to his fighting skills or the insulting word lightly. With a sudden movement, he practiced one of the strikes on his brother, sending him quickly to the floor, crying.

"Michelangelo!" I now reprimanded him, more shocked than angry. I had seen them hit each other before-- it seemed almost second nature to them to strike out in anger sometimes-- but this was different! He had managed to hit his brother hard! Only his lack of training kept him from seriously hurting Leonardo.

"Oooo!" Donatello was impressed. "So that's what it looks like!"

"Yeah! Can I hit Leo next?" Raphael chimed in eagerly.

Donatello cheerfully asked Michelangelo to do it again "sos I can see it better", but I had quickly taken the offending Turtle by the hand and had marched him to the corner (once I had made sure that Leonardo was all right).

"You were wrong to strike your brother!" I said sharply. "I am ashamed of you! You will stand in the corner for the rest of the lesson!"

"But... but... you said that we could only hit each other in the dojo!" he protested, looking confused now instead of angry.

Now I was confused. I had to think where he had gotten that idea-- and remembered something I had said in the kitchen the day before.

"Well, yes, but only in training! Never in anger," I pointed out, looking down at him. "You hit your brother in anger, and that is not allowed!"

He thought about that. Then he looked sad.

"Oh. 'kay. I's sorry, Sensei."

Then he turned and faced the corner without further word.

I was now surprised more by this action than his previous one of attacking his brother.

I turned to Leonardo.

"You, my son, were wrong to say what you did to your brother," I told him, looking at the red mark that his sibling had left on his face. "I have told you before about that word! You must stand in the other corner for the rest of the lesson."

And I placed him at the other end of the room. He looked as if he would like to protest, but having witnessed his youngest brother's response to punishment, he looked up at me, swallowed down whatever he had been about to say, and nodded.

"Sorry, Sensei," he managed, and he, too, turned to face the corner.

True to my word, I made them stand there while their brothers and I trained with the pillows and the foam noodles. Then it was time to fix breakfast.

I noticed, as they left the dojo and all through breakfast, that Leonardo and Michelangelo were careful to avoid each other. I was more than surprised that Michelangelo was not clinging to me for attention as he normally did once his brothers had "hurt" him.

The same could be said (to a lesser extent) about Leonardo. Yet the two of them acted as if nothing was wrong. True, they would not even look at each other it seemed, but at least it was quiet.

I was hesitant to go scavenging later, but around the time I was to leave, the two were playing together again, so I pushed my vague uneasiness from my mind and left to find food for all of us.

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To my amazement this daily activity continued on for several weeks with rarely a break in the routine. At this point I still did not insist on it. That could wait until they were five or six, I had decided. Until then, if they did not feel like participating I was not going to push it. Only once in a while, however, did any of them stay in bed or stayed in the living room to play while the others joined me in the dojo. Mainly they attended their daily lessons, and I must admit I was very proud of their progress! Who would have believed that such small children could be so skillful?

The sibling rivalry between Leonardo and Michelangelo continued with rarely a break as well. It seemed that Donatello and Raphael did not share this particular trait with their brothers, though they were eager and willing to learn none the less. But Michelangelo and Leonardo went at each new task as if there was some sort of fantastic reward awaiting the winner.

Though they did not repeat the actions of that first time, it seemed that at least once a week one of them (or both of them) would finish out the lesson in the corner. I am sure it was not that often, but to a harried father it appeared so. More than once I would overhear the old "ME and Father!" "No, it's Father and ME, Mikey!" "ME, Leo!" "Me!" "ME!" "**ME!**"

I was beginning to feel like a prize of sorts.

Despite this constant disagreement over who was going to form the Ninja team with father, their enthusiasm for the lessons did not lessen as the weeks went by.

It turned out that this dedication paid off in a way that I had not foreseen.

One late afternoon I had to go out for supplies. I had put it off because the weather had been too good-- rainy weather is better for scavenging topside, as there is less chance of being noticed by others. I had had to avoid the man I had had previous trouble with. He had been gone for some time, and from what I could overhear from fellow scavengers, he had been arrested for fighting and being under the influence of drugs. But he had recently been released, and was even more surly and dangerous than before. Many scavengers ran the risk of losing choice discoveries to this evil human.

I had seen him a few times, and his actions convinced me that when he was not "high" on some sort of drug, he was endeavoring to steal what he could from others in order to "score" some more. I had had several close calls as it were, but each time I had managed to avoid any contact with him.

This evening it was my unfortunate luck to encounter him face to face as it were.

"Hey! Hand over everything ya got in the bag, scum!" he slurred in a surly voice, a sort of rough club in one hand. I was next to a dumpster at the end of a dark and dingy alley, and had found of all things a radio that appeared to be in good condition-- the antannea was bent, and it was rather out of fashion, but if it still worked then we would have something rare to entertain us.

He did not seem to care that I had been scavenging from dumpsters. He was determined to have my sack of food and supplies. We were alone in the alley-- it was dark and rainy, so I had ventured out earlier than usual.

"Hurry up, old man!" he snapped, moving forwards in a threatening manner. "Give it all to me and I won't beat you up too much!"

He had evidently forgotten our previous meeting, for which I was grateful. He stood between me and the safety of the sewers, however. It appeared that I would have to fight him in order to escape.

I was feeling more confident in my abilities, but I had tried to avoid any confrontations-- all I would need is for my disguise to be penetrated, and then what would happen to my children? I might escape, but I had no doubt that the sewers would be searched for such a find as a "large cloths-wearing rat".

However, it was unavoidable. He lunged at me quickly, but I was quicker. All of my training paid off as I easily avoided his clumsy attacks, and dealt with him soundly. It was a very short though noisy fight, but I was pleased. He would not be a problem for me again-- or so I thought.

The police immediately showed up-- evidently people in the apartments looking into the alley must have alerted them. I was able to make my way quickly into the sewers with all of my items intact. I waited, as usual, to see if I was being followed, but I soon felt safe enough to move on my way.

I had already taken longer than I had anticipated, and was anxious to return home to my sons, so I gave no further thought to the ruffian who had tried once again to steal the nourishment and items needed for my sons.

Unfortunately (and I am piecing this part of my story together from subsequent accounts of fellow scavengers as well as what my sons later told me), the fellow, needing a quick escape, had made his way into the manhole that I had used, and was hiding. When it sounded as if the police were going to search there as well, he (unfortunately) went the same direction as me.

I believe that he must have spied me in the distance, and for whatever reason, decided to follow me as quietly as his condition allowed. I will never know for sure if this is what happened, but this is the only thing that makes sense. At any rate, I hurried home as quickly and as quietly as I could. I do not believe that he found our home that first time, for no one bothered us the rest of that evening or through the night, but the next day was going to be one of the most frightening things that has happened to me, next to the brutal murder of my master Yoshi.

The next day, he invaded my home while I was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

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Next part of the really long chapter. Thanks for reading!

TMNT still aren't mine.

**Five**

That evening, after feeding my sons, bathing them and dressing them for bed, I had settled down in the kitchen to see if the radio I had found would work. Donatello was at my side at once, like a bee to honey, asking so many questions that I cannot begin to list them here.

The gist of the conversation went something like this:

"What is that? Can I see it? Does it work? Can I see it? How does it work? Can I see it?"

"Patience, Donatello. This is a radio. A radio is an electronic device for receiving sound waves from... somewhere... and lets us hear... whatever is being transmitted from somewhere else."

I smiled in self-congratulations at my "explanation". I had heard and read things, and I had to admit, the concepts were over my head so to speak. But Yoshi had had a radio, and we used to listen to beautiful music.

I tried bending the small antenna, but it was hard for me to do without breaking it, so I decided to see if it worked. I got up and, with a "stand back, Donatello!" that he ignored, I plugged it into the wall socket, cringing in fear of possible attack by the electricity. I had had a scare when Donatello had decided to see if he could fit certain items into these strange holes in the wall-- that was when I learned in a baby book about "outlet covers", and managed to find or make several of my own.

I stared at the radio for a few minutes. Then I turned it on.

I was rewarded by much loud crackling and buzzing and other such nonsense noise-- and the sudden appearance of three more pajama-clad turtles, eyes wide, questions flying!

Ignoring the four on the floor (Donatello was trying to explain to the others exactly what was going on, and to this day I regret that I cannot remember exactly how he was doing it, but at the time I just knew that it was so cute and funny), I began to work the dial switch slowly. More noise came from it, high-pitched, low-pitched, sounding like the crinkling of many many sheets of paper or the rushing of water through a flooded sewer channel--

A voice suddenly sounded in the kitchen!

I grinned at my success, and turned to find I was alone!

My four sons had vanished as if they had not existed.

"My sons!" I called, lowering the volume on the radio. "My sons, it is all right!"

Now Donatello peered nervously into the kitchen from around the door jam, eyes searching the room.

"Who-- who is--"

"My son, that is the radio," I said kindly, holding out my arms to him.

He was torn! He wanted to examine that device so much, but the sound of a human voice so close to them had scared them greatly-- which in one way made me glad, knowing that they would never seek out any of these people who would lock us away in cages, or worse.

"The voice is coming from far away," I tried again, as he edged his way slowly across the floor towards me. "The voice is coming from a man far far away in a place where he is sending out the sounds. Listen-- he is going to play some music now."

I had recognized that he was introducing the next song-- I had managed to pick up a station that played what Master Yoshi had called "Classical Music"-- and the soothing strains of the first few notes caused a light to shine in Donatello's eyes, as his mouth made a perfect "OOoooo"...

He was quickly at my side, staring with great interest at this miracle, and listening with all his concentration to his first real "music".

They had heard me sing to them from infant up, but this was the first time any of them had heard what real music sounded like.

Soon the other three were crowded around, listening with great excitement, and I do not believe that anyone spoke for the entire selection, which by my estimation was a good seven to eight minutes.

"How's they get in there?" Michelangelo wanted to know, after I had explained that they had just heard a large group of humans playing musical instruments. He scrutinized the small "box". "They's must be tiny!"

"No one is in the radio," I explained, turning it off (much to their disappointment). "I will try to explain it to you later. Right now it is bed time."

I herded them before me, and after the nightly ritual of drinks of water, trips to the bathroom, and much tucking in, I was free to return to the kitchen.

Carefully I turned the radio back on, and sat in the dark with a cup of tea, letting the soft strains of some unknown (to me) composition wash over me.

It is funny, but the presence of this device in our home seemed to make me feel quite-- well, **human**, as it were.

Next morning training took place without incident. It was after training that the chain of events started up from where they had broken off the day before, when I surmise that my unknown pursuer had lost my trail.

I have to guess at the coming events. My sons later told me much, but when four three-year-olds are trying to tell the same story, it gets a bit confusing.

At any rate, I was in the kitchen, fixing breakfast and listening to some morning talk show that I had discovered, while my sons were in the living room playing. I had an ear on them as well-- I did not let the new entertainment source distract me-- but it was as usual, you understand. You sort of listen to what they are saying and doing, but you really do not get involved unless a fight breaks out.

Apparently the "Father and ME" argument had begun again, quietly at first, but it soon built into the first domino that attracted this man to our presence!

"Everybody knows that the bad guys lives topside," Leonardo was saying as Michelangelo, his favorite comic in hand, was trying to make some point to his brother. "That's why we gotta go there."

"Yeah, there's no bad guys down inna sewers," Raphael pointed out, as he built up his first huge tower of the morning with the blocks.

"They's sewer workers," Michelangelo insisted. "We could fights them for practice!"

"That would be wrong," Donatello pointed out. "Sewer workers aren't the bad guys."

Michelangelo made a disappointed sound.

"But how is we suppose ta get better if we can't fight the bad guys for practice?"

"We go topside," Leonardo insisted.

"We can't go topside-- we ain't suppose ta leave the house," Michelangelo responded.

"I am the oldest," Leonardo said in his most grown up voice. "So I can do it. Asides, I'm gonna be Father's team, so I--"

"NO!" came the first shout of the morning. "**I's** gonna be Father's team! It was my idea!"

I waited for the inevitable scuffle/argument to break out-- but what I heard was infinitely worse-- the front door suddenly opened!

Quick as I could, I was out of the kitchen and immediately into the sewers, snatching back two naughty turtles who had barely stepped foot out of our home!

"Leonardo! Michelangelo! Get back in here!" I allowed myself to shout their names even as I grabbed them; my voice created many echoes in that dark place, but I thought little of it at the time, my main concern was those two!

I did not slam the door, but I did close it hard. Then I locked it up, and turned, hands on hips, to stare at two cringing little turtles who knew that a spanking was in their future. Both had their hands protectively covering their backsides.

"Who unlocked and opened this door?"

Leonardo glanced at Michelangelo, and swallowed.

"I-- I-- I did, Father."

Frankly, it shocked me to realize that any of them were tall enough to work the lock. It had been bad enough when Raphael, when two, had managed to open the unlocked door and get out. Since then I had made sure to lock it at all times. But now, to know that they could work the lock! For a moment I wondered how I could ensure that they could never leave the house while I was gone. Then I focused upon the two before me.

"You must not go into the sewers without ME!" I said. "You both know this! You must obey me on this!"

"Yes, Father," Leonardo said.

"We's sorry, Father," Michelangelo added. "We just wanted to fight the bad guys--"

I snatched the comic he was holding out to me rather roughly from his hand.

"I am putting this away in my room," I frowned. "It is filling your heads with dangerous ideas! You will stay in the house! You will listen to me! Or there will be no more lessons!"

Both of them looked even more upset at the prospect of no more lessons than they did at the chance that they were going to get spanked.

"Now, go sit on the couch until I tell you that breakfast is ready!"

Without a further word they scurried to the couch and quickly climbed up, seating themselves with such determination to protect their tails that I nearly smiled. But I kept my face stern as I went into the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast.

I think that the man had been lost during the night. I am sure that when I went out after the two would-be ninja that I did not smell anyone around; I am almost subconsciously aware of the presence of humans, and no one had been down this way in almost a year. Perhaps that is another reason I did not register the fact that someone was close by.

I believe that he heard me shout their names. I believe that he must have spent the night either searching or sleeping somewhere in the sewers, though that last one is hard even for me to believe-- with all of the insects and rats down here, even **I** would not willingly sleep outside of our home. He could have climbed out for the night, and decided to come back in the morning to continue his hunt-- I suppose I will never know. At any rate, apparently he located our general living area by following the sound of my voice.

The rest of the day went quietly enough. Then I heard on the radio that there was quite a storm going on outside, and I decided that it would be an excellent time for me to go scavenging-- I could work quickly and be home before supper time. I prepared for my journey, while the children played with their toys.

"Now, I am only going to be gone for a short time," I told them. "I expect you to behave. Do not touch the radio while I am gone, do you understand me Donatello?"

"Yes, Father," he replied, crestfallen. It had been, as I had said, a relatively quiet day, except for my having to prevent Donatello from examining the radio-- with a screwdriver!

I carefully left the lair, locking the door from the outside, and made my way down the tunnel towards a manhole that would let me out close to a very choice dumpster behind a restaurant.

Now, everything I tell here is based on the stories of my sons.

I had just said farewell to my sons, and left our home carefully, making sure that no one could detect our front door. Evidently my "friend" waited in the distant shadows, far enough away from me that I did not detect him by his smell (which unfortunately was blended in with the normal smells of the sewers), until I was out of sight.

He carefully and quietly made his way to where I had exited, and after a bit of searching (for despite the pale light across the way, it is very dark there, he found my front door-- locked, but that was nothing to him.

__

("We was inna livin' room," Leo told me later, "playin' with our toys, and we heard the door rattle, and we knew it wasn't you cause you don't rattle the door!")

"I wish Father had not taken the comic book," Leonardo sighed. Even though it was Michelangelo's favorite in the beginning, Leonardo had become attached to it. He wanted to look at the pictures and pretend that he and Father were a team. He even had picked out which of the friends of the hero he was-- Father, naturally, was the tall human with many muscles and no shirt, while Leonardo was the short yet strong friend of the hero, with a long "tail" of hair growing from his head and dressed in these green pajamas. At least, they looked like pajamas to him.

Michelangelo sighed.

"Me, too," he frowned sadly. He could see, in his mind, Father as the huge human with lots of muscles to show his strength and no shirt, and himself as the short yet powerful friend of the hero, with a TAIL growing out of his head-- wow, that would be so neat, a tail growing out of your head!-- and wearing green pajamas. "I wish that the bad guys came inna sewers, then we could fights them!"

"We can't go inna sewers," Donatello said, eyes straying to the radio even though his father had made it clear to him to leave it alone. "We has to stay inna house."

Michelangelo sighed. Then his face lit up with a brilliant idea!

"I knowed! I wish the bad guys would come in here and we could fight them and safe the day!" he enthused. "I wish I wish I wish that they would come here so we could fight them and be real ninja and show Father who is the best one to be his team, and--"

Four turtles, three of them listening to their little brother, suddenly heard something strange-- the front door acted as if it were going to open, yet no one was unlocking it.

Four frightened toddlers looked at each other, frozen!

--rattlerattle--rattlerattlerattle--

Four frightened and terrified toddlers, wishes forgotten, immediately did what they had been trained to do-- they hid!

After a long time (Leonardo told me) there was more sound of jiggling and scratching and scraping-- and then the door opened, slowly. The man had managed to pick the lock finally.

Leonardo was hiding in the living room between the couch and the wall, where he could watch strange shoes walk into the room, slowly and quietly. He could see muddy wet prints being left behind each step. He was so scared as those shoes came closer and closer to his hiding place.

"Hello?" a rough voice called, and Leonardo cringed, putting his fingers in his ears so he would not have to hear the scary bad guy!

The man knew that someone was there-- he had heard them talking when he had listened at the door; he could see the toys lying scattered around the room. "Hello, little kids! Your daddy told me ta come and take you to him! He's a friend of mine!"

He looked around, but saw no one. _No big deal_, he thought. _This would be easy as anything. And it would make a nice place to hide out. That jerk won't mess with me as long as he doesn't want his brats hurt._

He went into the kitchen and rummaged the fridge, grabbing what he wanted and making a mess as he ate. He turned on the radio, and played with the tuner, not caring if anyone heard him. He was more than a match for kids.

__

("When he went inna kitchen, I snucked into the dojo," Leonardo told me. "I was afraid he'd sit on the couch, and find me, so I snucked into the dojo and hided in the dark with Michelangelo.")

He couldn't find any music he liked-- stupid reception! _Well, what can ya expect down here in the sewers? Stupid radio-- can't believe I was tryin' ta steal this piece of crap from that little runt..._

The radio was suddenly snatched off the counter and smashed on the floor!

From his hiding place under the sink, Raphael could see his first human close up-- and he was scary! AND he was eating all the food! AND HE BROKE THE RADIO!

After a few more terrifying minutes, the man left the kitchen.

__

("I didn't wanna stay there, Father! He broked the radio! I waited, and then I snuck out and ran to the dojo to hide! And Leo and Mikey was in there, but not Donnie, and we was scared that he would find Donnie!")

Then he made his way to Father's room, where Donatello was under the bed, shivering as he watched this pair of filth-coated shoes left a trail of nasty sewer grime all over Father's clean floor.

He cringed and stuffed his hand into his mouth to keep from crying when the mattress suddenly sank down as the man got into Father's bed! It was hard, but Donatello kept quiet-- though he was scared!

__

("And he didn't even take his nasty shoes off, Father! He got inna bed with his nasty dirty shoes! I was scared of him maybe being too heavy for the bed and he would crush me, but he didn't, but he was smelly and he had those nasty shoes on your clean sheets! He didn't even care!")

"Ah, this is really nice," he said aloud, not caring if anyone heard him. Indeed, he was speaking to let them know that there was nothing they could do, and he was not to be messed with. "I think I'll take a nice comfortable nap. Wake me up when yer ready to go with me to your daddy."

Yes--the man was not worried about anything. He figured that eventually the kids would make themselves known. He could afford to wait.

Donatello, under the bed, tried and tried to not be scared, but the longer he was under there, with that scary human just above him, the less he was able to not be scared.

__

("I thought maybe I could sneak out," he said to me later. "I thought if he's asleep I could sneak out! I moved as quietly as I could, and as slowly as I could, and I crawled to the door-- but I think he saw me, 'cause he laughed! So I got up and ran to the dojo!")

He'd heard the noise-- a scuffling type of sound, of someone crawling; he felt the bed move ever so slightly, and smiled to himself. He waited, however. He just lay there with his eyes closed, very comfortable, and waited until he judged that whoever was trying to get to the door had managed to almost make it... and then he had laughed.

Oh! The noise of that kid suddenly running down the short hallway! He laughed some more, and debated on whether he would get up and find the kid or just stay here. This was a damned comfortable bed-- that runt sure had scavenged well!

In fact, this place would be perfect for him to stay in permanently. He would take care of this old man and his brats, and the place would be all his.

"Well, no time like the present," he said to himself. He got up and went in search of the kids, searching the other bedroom and the bathroom, and then he found his way into the dojo.


	6. Chapter 6

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Yes, I actually posted three chapters in two days. And they said it couldn't be done-- or was that SHOULDN'T be done?

TMNT and all their cuteness is not mine, it is Mirage's. Happy Memorial Day.

**Six**

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(last chapter)

In fact, this place would be perfect for him to stay in permanently. He would take care of this old man and his brats, and the place would be all his.

"Well, no time like the present," he said to himself. He got up and went in search of the kids, searching the other bedroom and the bathroom, and then he found his way into the dojo.

"Hey! Kiddies! It's your uncle Mick!" he smiled, trying to make his voice all sweet. "You know, the friend of yer daddy's. I really need to take you to him now. I know yer in there, but we ain't got time to keep playin' hide and seek. Come on out sos we can go see yer daddy."

He stood in the open doorway, looking around. It was dark in there, despite the light from the living room-- the dojo lights were out, and the glow from the one light in the living room could only illuminate the immediate area by the door. The man stood in the dark room and quickly found the light switch. He flipped it on--

"KYYYYYAAAA!"

A high-pitched shout, and suddenly pillows were flying at the startled man. Before he could see what was happening, he was being hit with something made of foam, and being kicked and punched on the legs!

The foam things and the pillows kept getting in his face, but he knew that the attackers were just kids. He lashed out with a hand-- and was blocked!

DAMN! One of the foam things poked his eye, and he cursed loudly as he was temporarily blinded. The attacks intensified; lots of shouting and kicking and punching of his legs; one lucky shot caught him behind the knee, causing him to momentarily buckle and almost lose his balance.

Winking away the watery sting of his eye, he finally got a good look at what he was up against--

What the hell!

Green children! Strange green children, crying and kicking and running and hitting, dodging his questing hands, his own kicking feet!

Green children!

He grabbed yet again for one of the strange green children and managed to capture one, picking him up bodily to face level.

A shell! He was holding onto some sort of shell! At first he had thought it was some costume or something, but as this kid kept twisting and shouting and flailing his legs, he realized that he was holding the biggest turtle he had ever seen in his entire life!

"Let him go! Let him go!" the others were screaming, kicking and punching and doing what they could against the man. But now that the initial shock was over with, he could afford to ignore the rest of them. All he could think of was the money he was surely going to pocket over a discovery like this! Turtle Children! Holy mother of God! This was the jackpot, no mistake about it!

Michelangelo never let go of his pool noodle. He kept shouting and hitting the man in the face and around the head, while the man tried to kick the others away, and examining this find more closely.

"You kids are gonna make me the richest man in the world!" he chuckled threateningly, grinning into the frightened turtle's face.

Michelangelo kept twisting and turning and thrashing and kicking, and everyone was yelling and hitting and crying, but the man just laughed. This was a piece of cake! He would be so rich that no one would ever touch him again! He was gonna be--

THWACK!

"... gah-nnnnnnngghhH!"

One of the captured turtle's little yet powerful feet made very crippling and painful contact, causing the man to drop to his knees, and Michelangelo fell backwards onto the dojo floor. But he was up in a flash, and the four of them went running out of the room, heading for the front door--

The man, gasping and cursing, followed-- and found himself face to face with--

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I was halfway to my exit when I heard the distant thunder echoing from above. The lights flickered in the tunnel, but stayed on. The noise was such that I could judge that this was more of a storm than I wanted to be out in. After a few minutes hesitation, I decided to wait to do my scavenging.

I turned around and headed home, noting the rising water as the runoff began to make its way down here. I hoped that I would not have to unclog any of the surrounding tunnels. It had been a while since we had had a large storm, and I was fairly certain that the channels were not obstructed between my home and the drainage junction. We should not have to worry about--

Faintly, screams came to me. I froze, twitching my straining ears, trying to catch the echoes of what I thought I had heard.

The sound of the sewers, of the distant thunder, of the countless background noises competed for my attention, but I tuned them out, listening, listening...

I had just begun to think I had imagined it, when it sounded out again-- screams-- yells-- cursing--

"My sons!"

I ran, oh how I ran! Walking distance was about ten minutes, but I ran as fast as I could, splashing through the ever-rising water, dropping my sacks, my disguise, focusing on reaching my home!

I could hear the shouts clearly now, though the door was closed! I grabbed the knob, yanked the door open-- and was met by my four sons, running for their lives right for the door--

-- and my old "acquaintance" from above, in hot pursuit of my babies!

MY BABIES!

He pulled up short, staring in growing disbelief at my appearance.

"Oh, my God!" he barely said, and then, with a "my sons, run to my room!" I was upon the man, doing my best to beat him within an inch of his life!

My sons did not run just yet-- while I was attacking from above, the turtles, bolstered no doubt by "Father's" return, were attacking from below-- kicking, punching, biting, screaming words the man probably did not understand about "hiyah" and "keeyah" and "get the bad guy!" and "chop his head off!"

Somehow he managed to stagger out of the door, though I still had hold of him. My sons were right behind me, shouting and crying the entire time.

My would-be assailant was screaming and swearing at the same time and promising he'd never take drugs again as he broke my hold on him and started to run...

He was running away, but I was not not through with him. I had to get rid of this threat to my family, to make sure he would NEVER return to my home!

"My sons! Go to my room! NOW!" I shouted sternly, and this time they listened, vanishing back into our home. I slammed the door, then set out in pursuit of this evil being.

I chased him as far as I could. I had to make sure he would NEVER find his way back without losing myself in the process. Every time he slowed down, I would attack him again and again, and his fear drove him further and further until he finally thought to scramble up a ladder to street level.

I followed-- it was dark, and we came out in an alley-- the rain was pouring, and the lightning was closely followed by thunder-- yet the man's screaming was even louder than the storm, and he soon drew attention to himself as he went running into the street shouting about GIANT RATS AND TURTLE KIDS!

I hid, watching, as a crowd of onlookers at first ignored him, then began to gather to watch in amusement as he stood there in the storm, trying to get people to follow him "into the sewers! They're crawlin' with giant rats that can do karate! And huge turtles, turtles that can talk and fight! C'mon! We gotta stop 'em before they take over!"

The police were on the scene in no time, and listened to him for approximately two minutes.

They arrested him.

"But it's true!" he kept howling, as the officers examined the bag of drugs they had found in his pocket.

They didn't even comment. They just locked him in the car and drove away.

I knew that we were safe.

When I returned home, I found the four of them in my room, where they were crowded under the bed, crying without making any sounds.

"My sons," I said, and I was immediately buried in turtles, crying loudly and holding on for dear life.

It was at least ten minutes of sobbing stories and hugs and kisses and other family business, and then they finally began to calm down.

"Where's the bad man?" Leo asked, sniffling as I wiped all their faces with a rag.

"He is gone," I assured him. "Father chased him far away out of the sewers, and the police have captured him."

"Is he gonna come back?" Donatello asked, clinging to me.

"No, he will not come back," I said. "I will not let him come back! You were very brave, my sons! Did he hurt you? Did he hurt any of you?"

"No," Raph said, "But he scared us! He said you was his frien', and to come out! But we didn't come out! Even when he broked the radio and ate up the food!"

"You were very smart," I hugged him. "But how did you end up fighting him?"

"I'm sorry," Donatello sniffed. "I tried to run outta the room an' he saw me I guess an' he found us inna dojo."

"Mikey was brave!" Leonardo told me, his grownup way of talking lately now lost in the moment. "He threw the pillows at the man and yelled, and and and the man was ascared! And then we all hitted him and yelled, and the man was yellin' and he grabbed Mikey--"

"Mikey hitted him with the 'sword'!" Donatello shouted, getting excited, and as I watched and listened they started to tell me of the battle when their brother was captured by the bad man and how they were all hitting him and how he tried to hit them but they never got hit once, not never!

"And then Mikey kicked him, and he turned a funny color and made a noise like you did when Mikey kicked you," Raphael finished up. "An' he dropped Mikey and we ran and then you came in and-- and we helped you fight him-- and-- and--"

Realization dawned on four little faces.

"We-- we fighted the bad guy-- with Father," Michelangelo breathed, eyes round with surprise. "We fighted the bad guy with Father and safed the day! We's a team!"

"Does that mean-- we're NINJA?" Leonardo gasped.

I laughed, and hugged all four as best as I could under the circumstances.

"Well, you certainly are Ninja at heart, my sons," I said, filled with such joy. "And yes, we fought the bad guy-- as a team." And there was much sighing of satisfaction.

Eventually I persuaded the four of them to let go of me so we could go into the kitchen. I had to go with them room by room to show them that the bad man was gone, even taking them into the sewers a short distance to show them how the man's footprints were carrying him away quickly (Raphael was most fascinated, and immediately caught onto how I could tell that he was running. He will make a great tracker, I think.).

Then it was back to the safety of our home (Leonardo suggested that we get rid of the light across from our home, but I convinced him that it would be all right to leave it).

Though I usually was very careful with our supplies, I made a victory dinner that night, after cleaning up the mess our "visitor" had made-- some precious chicken, and plenty of vegetables both cooked and raw (Michelangelo will eat raw carrots, not cooked), and I managed to bake a cake-- and I let them stay up late. It was a shame about the radio, but I had hopes of finding another. Donatello was more than eager to see if he could "fix" it, but I persuaded him to wait until another time.

Bedtime was what I thought it would be-- the memory of that man, of their first real encounter with the scary "outside world", influenced their reluctance to be alone in their room (though there were the four of them) with the lights off, so I gave in and carried the old rocking chair from my room to theirs, where I spent a few hours simply rocking in the glow of a night light. Each of them awoke at least once during the night, but my presence sent them back to deep slumber, and eventually I was able to retire to my own room, and get a few hours of much needed rest.

The next day they awoke me!

"Sensei!" Michelangelo was standing on my bed, his beak almost touching my nose, lifting one of my eyelids with a careful thumb. "It's time to train!"

I reached a lazy arm up and scooped him into a giggling hug-- and was soon pounced upon by three others, wanting their share of Father's love.

"Today we will have a holiday," I said, snuggling with them all, and they seemed a bit disappointed-- but only for a moment.

"I's sorry, Father," Michelangelo said, pulling off his bandana and tucking himself into my embrace. "I wished too hard to be a team. I wished for the bad guys to come here so we could fight them, and the bad man did come. I won't do it again."

"Oh, my son," I said, hugging him tightly, "you did not wish the bad man here. He just came. But he is gone! I know! We will go for a walk today! I found a wonderful place that we can go visit, and no one will see us! How does that sound?"

Evidently it sounded good to them, judging from the cheering. They rarely got to leave our home in those days, and it would help, in the long run... they had many nightmares in the following weeks, but with time the fear of the event faded into vague memories as they grew and changed and gained experience.

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I look at the medal that Michelangelo earned during his "rematch" in the Battle Nexus-- it is hanging in a place of honor in our new dojo-- and sigh. I am proud of all of them-- they are Ninja. They are warriors, the finest I know. My Master Yoshi would be proud to call them "grandsons". They honor me with their skills and their courage. Michelangelo, especially, has turned out to be an exceptional fighter. He truly deserves his second win at the Battle Nexus. He has earned his title of "champion".

"Aww... why do I gotta get up and train at this early hour?" Michelangelo whines. He knows I will ignore it only for so long, and then I will probably smack him with my stick-- not hard but enough to catch his attention.

I begin the morning's training, and I am proved right; I have to catch his attention several times this morning.

I wonder when it was that he changed. He used to be so eager to learn...

Sometimes I wish I could go back to those days; sometimes I wish they could, even if for a few minutes, be little children again. I miss my babies-- sometimes.

The lesson is over for the day, and after being forced to clean up the dojo, the four of them vanish like the ninja they are.

I look at the medal again and sigh.

"Um, Dad?"

I turn; Michelangelo is in the doorway. I wonder if he has managed in the few short minutes since leaving to already be in need of protection from Raphael.

Before I can respond, he comes across the floor and suddenly hugs me.

"Sorry I messed up today. I won't do it again."

I smile and return his hug.

"Thank you, my son," I say, smiling. He looks at me with a confused grin.

"For what?"

"For wanting, once upon a time, to be Father's team, so we could fight the bad guys and 'safe' the day."

He just looks puzzled, but he is too polite to ridicule his father. So he grins and with a slow "O-kaaaaaaay", he hugs me again, and then leaves to go get into his usual daily amount of trouble.

My son, the Ninja.


End file.
